French whine ... le sigh

It's always been somewhat peculiar to me when I see an American vintner label themselves as "Chateau something-something." (For instance, Chateau Ste. Michelle or Chateau St. Jean.) To me, it seems like the wineries are stretching too far and resorting to Euro-cool themes to make themselves sound more vintage and classy and I've tended to stay away from these wineries. (My reasoning: If you gotta rely on a faux, snotty French name--and you're located in Sonoma County for God's sake--ehh ... chances are your wines are overrated.)

That said, apparently the French aren't taking too lightly to these American wineries tagging themselves with "chateau" either. France has long forbidden American wineries that use "chateau" or "clos" to sell wines there, as to not confuse customers the wines from the "real" chateaux in France with the "fake" ones from the US. American wineries have responded by appealing to the European Union to remove this protectionist regulation.

Before we go on, let's take a look at the word "chateau" (or "chateaux" for plural, in French) and understand why it's so important to the French. Essentially, a chateau--in it's original sense--is a countryside castle or large manor house. Once it is encircled by a city, it is considered a palace, or palais. (Following this logic, the Palace of Versailles is known in French as Chateau de Versailles--even though it very much a grand palace, as we know the word; Louvre Palace is called Palais du Louvre.)

Chateau Citran, Bordeaux, France
December 2008

This fits perfectly in with our romanticized belief of what a wine-making chateau should look like--a grand, stately structure standing in the middle of vineyards, with rolling hills of the French countryside in the backdrop.  But in wine-making terms, "chateau" has a very specific definition, that may or may not relate to a grandiose mansion.  According to French rules, only wine from grapes grown on the property and made into wine in facilities on the property can be labeled with the name of the chateau. Perhaps an unspoken rule is that it should be French in origin as well, not just a Frenchie sounding name plucked up and slapped onto a bottle from a producer in Placer County.

Honestly, there aren't any real chateaux in the US.  There are nice countryside mansions, but chateau designates history, culture, and pedigree--a person buying wine from a French chateau, it is claimed, is buying into this history. Indeed, there are many chateaux in France that existed much longer than the US has as a country.

But does any of this matters? Can insular France really hold back the tides of globalization and international trade? Should American wineries using the chateau in their name be allowed to sell in the country that originated the word as we now know it? There is precedence to not allow it. For instance, only sparkling wines from the Champagne region can be called champagne, and only wines from Burgundy can be called by that name.

But there is the rub in all this, which I think the EU will rely on to overturn the French prohibition. The previous prohibitions are attributed to the names of the regions, not because there is some several hundred year old structure sitting on the plot of land. This is protectionism disguised in the cloak of history. The French vintners use a specific definition of what qualifies as chateau wines, but many American wineries already qualify. If more US wineries that use "chateau" toe the line with the definition and want to sell into France, would the French be OK? I doubt it.

In many cases, American wines are as good as French ones--some are better. They know this, and are rightly concerned about competition. Lifting the prohibition would be the right decision. But I'll still be avoiding US wineries using "chateau" in their name.

These time-lapsed photos of Ireland, crafted into a video, are just too amazing not to share. Follow this link.

Ireland is one of the country's I've longed to visit, for well over 10 years now. I'm sure the locals hate it when they hear tourists say this, but something about the island seems so ... mystical. The serene countryside, the mist-blanketed hills, the waves crashing against the rock cliffs, the rays of sunshine piercing through thick clouds--mix this with fantastical folklore of faeries, wisps and leprechauns. Looking at the video, how can it be described as anything other than mystical?